Valentine's Day - Holmesian style
by CalmBeforeAStorm
Summary: Lestrade has really had it up to here with Sherlock and John's antics, however funny he finds them. Then Big Brother arrives on the scene to add to the chaos...Valentine's Day fic!


**Valentine's Day: Holmesian style**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock doesn't belong to me.**

**A/N: This may actually be my first foray into the world of writing slash - implied Johnlock and Mystrade. O_o Je ne regrette rien.**

Lestrade sighed wearily, wiping a hand across his brow.

This had been a particularly hard case, and not just because it had been difficult to solve. Three young people dead - two teenage boys and a girl - and all because of some stupid lover's quarrel. One boy (the ex-boyfriend) had accidently killed the other in a fit of jealousy over the girl. The girl, discovering her boyfriend's body in his home, had overdosed on paracetamol, Juliet Capulet-style. Seeing what terrible events he had caused, the ex-boyfriend (the one who had killed the other lad) then went off home after school the next day and hanged himself in his bedroom.

Overall, everything was very Shakespearian.

On Valentine's Day, too!

The DI let his thoughts settle on his wife, and what she was most likely doing -probably in the bed of that damned PE teacher again - and grit his teeth slightly.

She should have been with him! Probably eating an admittedly awkward dinner at some posh restaurant, but still! Here he was, spending the most romantic night of the year examining the corpses of three stupid, naive young people who had thrown their lives away so carelessly, while she was doing...God knows what.

He sighed again, stuffing his freezing hands in his pockets. It was probably time to admit defeat on that front, he decided. There was no getting her back after this, no matter how hard he tried.

A familiar, deep baritone laugh pierced the cold night air, followed shortly after by a lighter, higher-pitched one.

Frowning, Lestrade glanced over at John and Sherlock who were standing together by the side of the road, looking out for a cab - they were in a bit of a remote area of London this time, and there were hardly any taxis to be had - but they didn't seem to mind too much. No matter how many times Lestrade told those two _not_ to laugh at his crime scenes, thank you very much, that's what they almost inevitably ended up doing.

He watched Sherlock shuffle a little closer to his flat mate, who was dancing up and down on the spot in an effort to stay warm. No concept of personal space at all, that one, Lestrade thought, amused. John didn't seem to care though - probably had gotten used to it after almost three years of living with the man. Or maybe...

Not for the first time, Lestrade found himself wondering about them. Maybe there was something going on there, despite John's ardent protests to the contrary. After all, they had been living together at 221B for an awfully long time, and really, why else would John choose to live with that madman?

Sherlock suddenly untied his ever-present blue scarf and threw it quickly around John's neck, who blushed and tried (in vain) to give it back. Eventually, though, the doctor gave up and wrapped it tightly around him, looking flushed and more than a little pleased.

Raising his eyebrow, Lestrade glanced quickly around to see if anyone else had seen that - and yes, there was Anderson with a particularly constipated look on his face, Donovan close by with the same unveiled expression of disgust. Both of them staring venomously at the two men.

Lestrade felt a brief flash of annoyance - he had always hated homophobia, and particularly tonight - it was Valentine's Day, for God's sake. Anderson and Donovan's hateful ways were beginning to get on his nerves.

Gregson had obviously seen Sherlock's little display there as well, but he was wearing a slightly smug look. Lestrade remembered that Gregson had more than £50 riding on the Baker Street detectives being a couple. He evidently believed that tonight was his lucky night.

John, oblivious to the speculation building up around him, leaned up and whispered something into Sherlock's ear. Donovan made a gagging noise, Anderson sniggering along beside her.

Alright. That's it. He may not have had much of a Valentine's Day himself so far, but that wasn't going to mean he was going to let those two ruin it for two people he considered his friends.

He began to walk briskly over to the sergeant and the forensics officer, planning on reprimanding them. Just at that moment, two things happened simultaneously - a cab magically appeared (which Sherlock quickly flagged down) and, more surprising, a shiny black BMW rounded the corner and began cruising down the road.

Lestrade huffed a laugh, breath fogging the air. He knew whose car that was.

The car slowed down as it reached Sherlock and John standing by their cab - Sherlock glaring fiercely at it (there was Lestrade's suspicions confirmed, then) -the window rolled down, and then:

_'CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIGHT...IT IS WHERE WE ARE'_

All police officers present collectively turned around to gape in astonishment as the song was blared from the car - just in time to see Sherlock hiss something (too far away to hear properly, but Lestrade was fairly sure it was 'Fuck you, Mycroft!'), flip the middle finger at the BMW as it rolled by, then clamber in to the cab after John, shutting the door loudly after himself.

Lestrade couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up out of him as the cab drove away. And, it may have been just his imagination, but he was pretty sure he heard a familiar chuckle drift from the open window of the BMW.

He turned back around to continue his journey towards Anderson and Donovan, shaking his head slightly. Those brothers and their Holmesian ways.

A little while later, when the bodies of those unfortunate youngsters had been taken away and the last of the crime scene tape removed, Lestrade congratulated his team and bade them a happy Valentine's Day. Turning around to try to hail a taxi - almost impossible if you weren't Sherlock, who seemed to be able to get a cab no matter what part of the city he was in - Lestrade resigned himself to a night spent in front of the telly with an episode of QI and a single glass of wine.

He froze.

There was the BMW, parked just down the street.

As he stared in bewilderment at it, the back door opened from the inside and a familiar, smiling face popped around it, beckoning him over.

Lestrade paused for a second in indecision. If he got in, people might talk...but then again, which one would he prefer - QI and cheap red wine, or Mycroft Holmes?

He smiled, decision made, and began to walk towards what he was sure would be a very Holmesian Valentine's Day.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this crappy one-shot. I could get used to writing this stuff!**

**Reviews would make me happy!**


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